West City was a trip. It was a solarpunk utopia where cars floated on anti-gravity cushions and houses were round, bright, and cheerful.
Luther walked straight up to the massive dome that served as the headquarters of the Capsule Corporation.
He needed tech.
Sure, he was a biological tank, but in the Marvel Universe, guys like Tony Stark and Reed Richards ruled the world because they had stuff. Gadgets. Weapons. Systems.
And here? The tech was insane. Dr. Gero was out there somewhere building Androids that could punch a Super Saiyan in the face. But Gero was a lunatic who would probably try to dissect Luther.
Dr. Brief, on the other hand? He was just a chill guy who liked cats and cigarettes.
Luther walked into the lobby. Most billionaires had armed guards and appointment books. Dr. Brief was wandering through the atrium wearing a lab coat and flip-flops, a black cat perched on his shoulder.
"Excuse me, Dr. Brief?" Luther called out.
The older man stopped, blinking behind his glasses. He took a drag from a cigarette that defied the building's 'No Smoking' policy.
"Oh, hello there. Delivery? Just leave the pizza on the desk."
"Not a delivery guy," Luther smiled, projecting that confident, CEO aura. "I'm a scientist. I'm a huge fan of your work on dimensional compression, and I want to work for you."
Brief scratched his head. "Work for me? Oh, I don't really do the 'assistant' thing. I like my quiet. And Scratch here," he motioned to the cat, "is terrible at sharing the workspace."
"I don't need my hand held," Luther said. "Give me a test. If I solve it, you let me use your lab equipment. If I fail, I walk away."
Brief looked at Luther. He saw a young man who looked more like a supermodel than a physicist, but there was an intensity in his eyes that was hard to ignore.
"A test, huh?" Brief chuckled. "Alright, kid. I like your moxie."
He led Luther into a chaotic laboratory filled with half-finished inventions. He pointed to a whiteboard covered in complex equations.
"I've been stuck on the organic preservation protocols for the Type-D storage capsules. Food keeps spoiling in the stasis field after three months. I need it to last three years. Here's the data."
He handed Luther a stack of manuals thick enough to stop a bullet.
"I haven't read up on Capsule theory before," Luther admitted, taking the books. "Give me a minute."
Brief smirked. "Take your time. It took me six months to get this far."
Luther sat down.
Super Brain: Engage.
He flipped the pages. Zip. Zip. Zip.
To an observer, it looked like he was just fanning himself with the books. But Luther's eyes were scanning every pixel, every formula, every diagram. He absorbed the foundational physics of this universe's spatial compression technology in forty-five seconds.
Then, he closed his eyes. He ran simulations in his head. He cross-referenced the chemical degradation rates with the energy output of the capsule containment field.
The problem isn't the seal, Luther realized. It's the quantum frequency. It's vibrating the bacteria inside the food, accelerating growth.
He stood up and grabbed a marker.
Fifty minutes later.
"Done," Luther said.
Dr. Brief, who had been tinkering with a hover-bike in the corner, looked up. "Already gave up?"
"Solved it."
Brief walked over to the whiteboard. He squinted. He adjusted his glasses. He took the cigarette out of his mouth.
"Well, I'll be damned."
The solution wasn't perfect—it was a brute-force mathematical workaround because Luther didn't have the proprietary core codes—but it worked. It was elegant, aggressive, and brilliant.
"You did this... in an hour?" Brief asked, looking at Luther with genuine awe. "Without the core encryption keys?"
"I had to improvise a bit on the variables," Luther shrugged. "But the math checks out."
"Checks out? Kid, this is genius. Why haven't I heard of you? You should be running your own institute."
"I've been... self-studying," Luther said smoothly. "So, do I get the job?"
"Get the job?" Brief laughed, slapping Luther on the back. "You start five minutes ago. The coffee machine is on the left, don't touch the red buttons, and welcome to Capsule Corp."
For the next twenty-four hours, Luther lived in the lab.
Dr. Brief was a dream boss. He paid an obscene salary, offered full benefits, and basically said, "Don't blow up the planet, otherwise, have fun."
Luther took full advantage.
He could have used the Dragon Balls to wish for "All the technology in the universe," but that felt cheap. Wishes were a limited resource. Knowledge? Knowledge was forever.
He tore through the archives. He mastered the production of the Dyno-Caps. He learned how to compress a motorcycle into a pill-sized container. He learned how to manipulate gravity fields.
This is it, Luther thought, holding a tiny capsule between his fingers. This is how I move the loot.
He could stash Vibranium, alien tech, maybe even a whole spaceship into a handful of these things. He could smuggle an entire arsenal back to the Marvel Universe in his pocket.
"Universal Capsule Technology," Luther whispered. "Stark is going to lose his mind when he sees this."
"Daddy! You've been in here all day!"
The lab door slid open, and a girl stormed in. She had bright blue hair, a red ribbon, and an attitude that could strip paint off a wall.
Bulma Briefs.
She was young—probably in her late teens, the "Dragon Ball" era version. She was brilliant, spoiled, and looking for adventure.
She stopped dead when she saw Luther.
He was standing by a centrifuge, sleeves rolled up, looking like a Greek statue that had decided to take up engineering.
Bulma's anger evaporated instantly. Her eyes went wide. A distinct blush painted her cheeks.
"Oh," she squeaked. Then she cleared her throat and tried to look demure. She batted her eyelashes. "Um. Hello."
"Hey," Luther said, not looking up from his microscope. "You must be Bulma."
"You know who I am?" She twirled a lock of blue hair around her finger, stepping closer. "I didn't know Daddy hired... models."
"I'm a researcher," Luther corrected, finally turning to face her.
He looked at her. Right now, she was just a flirtatious teenager. But Luther knew the lore. This girl was going to invent a Time Machine in a garage. She was arguably the smartest human in this entire dimension.
"Research," Bulma giggled, leaning against the table and trying to pose. "That sounds... fascinating. I'm actually a bit of a scientist myself. Maybe we could... collaborate?"
Luther suppressed a smile. She was laying it on thick.
"Brother Luther!" she tried, testing out a cutesy nickname. "Are you free today? Daddy works you too hard. How about we go out? I know this great place in the city. My treat."
Luther paused.
He had the tech. He had the power. He had the Senzu beans.
Hanging out with the future matriarch of the Briefs dynasty wasn't a bad strategic move. Plus, she knew where the good food was.
"Sure," Luther said, taking off his lab coat. "Let's go. But I'm driving."
Bulma beamed, linking her arm through his. "You're going to love my car. It flies."
"I know," Luther grinned. "I know."
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